Pains of Youth
by KateAncharn
Summary: Germany is far younger then he looks and acts, but his lack of experience leaves him feeling things he'd never admit to anyone when his economy leaves him weak and... dare he say, afraid. England, with more experiences then he knows what to do with, finds it hard not to share a little of it.
1. Chapter 1

The empty seat was unnerving, to say the least. England let his eyes flick discreetly from the still unoccupied chair to the rest of the nations, who were arguing and fighting their hearts out. Russia was sending his his customary aura of hatred at America, who was in an odd screaming match with China. France was being his usual love-obsessed self, Japan was silently skimming over some papers that looked to be suspiciously placed to hide a manga issue, and Italy...  
Well, he wasn't actually there; Romano was. The much more pleasant Italian twin had gone and broken his leg and a couple ribs from a 'normal' football match with his equally competitive brother, and was thus staying home to recover. And that left the Englishman rather alone in his musings over the chair still neatly tucked into the head of the table.

Germany, the most punctual, responsible, and mature member of the G8 was nowhere to be seen. No call telling of a sudden complication in his schedule, no horrendous traffic anywhere near the most logical and time saving routes to take to get to the meeting hall, nothing but a vacant spot in the room that should be filled and steering their energies back to the actual meeting and problems that need fixing. The taller blond should be there, no problem, but it had almost been an hour since the meeting 'began'. There was something wrong, here, and England didn't like it.

"Alright, you gits, belt up and go home!" the Brit finally snapped. They may be scheduled to convene for another two hours, but without the German, nothing was getting done, and they knew it. For once, the group of countries listened to the short island nation without grumbling or being generally unpleasant. The room was empty in seconds, England sitting irately in his chair and silently thinking over his own plans for the day.

'Let's see... The vegetable garden has been needing a little weeding as of late. The herb garden, too. And wasn't I getting ready to try another blend of herbs with that lemon rind? There was also that Hoodoo book of spells and charms that I wanted to finish,' he thought leisurely, calmly packing up his papers and leaving the meeting room at a slower, more relaxed pace then the other nations. Then the face of a much taller blond came into his mind's eye. 'Germany... What could that prat be doing? The meeting was even in Berlin, cor blimey!' Arthur huffed angrily, looking down at his watch; it was barely past noon back home, but he didn't feel it too much since it was only a one hour difference.

"That's it," the Brit grunted to himself, leaving the neat diplomatic building with a certain kind of determination. "If that wanker can't bother to show up to a meeting at his own place, he'd better be keeling over!" England was ticked off, almost stomping down the sidewalk on his self-imposed mission. Said mission: find Germany, find out just why he was a no-show, then curse his sorry arse into the next century if it wasn't up to standards.

It wasn't hard to find the German's house; months of occupying the city after WWII ingraining the location of several places in Arthur's mind. The small, tidy building was pleasant, a potted plant sitting neatly by the door on the tiny porch. There was no sign of Ludwig as far as the outside of the house. After several irate minutes of pounding on the door with only the sound of dogs barking coming from inside, plan B came into effect. That meant England was going inside, and the spare key sitting under said plant was going to let him in.

"Alright, you insufferable git! What the bloody hell were you thinking!" the small Englishman roared as he slammed open the door. He was met with silence. Well, the dogs were still barking and whining from their kennels in the small area by the front door, but not a single remotely human noise came. The Brit looked at the dogs in slight contemplation. Their food bowls were bare; odd, considering how much Germany cared about his dogs. England felt the beginnings of real worry tug at his mind as he opened the kennels.

The dogs swarmed around him, and being rather large dogs, they could have easily knocked the island nation over. Sniffing and yipping, the three canines scratched at a large plastic tub, and from the wagging of their tails when the lid was cracked, he knew it was most definitely their kibble. Pouring a hefty scoop of the dog food into each bowl, he let a concerned frown pull on his lips.

"You're master didn't come feed you, yet?" he murmured, letting his hand stroke the largest dog as it ate. This was getting worrisome; Germany would never shirk his responsibilities, especially to his dogs! "Do you know where Germany is?" the Brit almost crooned, not expecting much from the hungry animals. The oldest dog, however, lifted its head from the food bowl like it understood the question. England almost smirked at his newly found Germany detection method.

"Come on, where's Germany! Go find Germany!" he encouraged, his hands on his thighs as he bent down to the dog's level. His ears perked, a little bit of excitement in the canine's brown eyes. "Go on, take me to Germany!" The dog complied, scampering over to the stairs and waiting at the first step for the shorter blond to catch up. England was lead up the stairs, down the small hallway, and to a slightly ajar door at the end. The dog refused to go further, obviously trained to know the room was off limits. Scratching and nudging the wooden barrier, it looked up at the Englishman with a soft whine.

"In here?" Arthur hummed, slowly opening the door. It was a bedroom, almost everything placed neatly and orderly as far as the eye could see. Everything except the bed. Sheets were tangled and tossed haphazardly on the mattress like the bed's occupant had trouble getting out of them, and even from the doorway, England saw a large wet spot. From a quick sniff of the air, he could tell it wasn't urine that moistened the vacant bed. There was a soft gagging from the adjoined bathroom, and the Brit carefully peaked thought the gap between the door and its frame. He didn't know what he was expecting, but what he found was certainly not it.


	2. Chapter 2

There Germany was, the taller blond nation clad only in a black wife-beater and a pair of boxers and meekly vomiting up his last meal. His skin was clammy and shone with sweat, his clothing soaked through and his hair drenched. His cheeks blazed red as his body sagged, his gut forcing him to heave, again. Nothing came out, but the torment continued for a good minute before Ludwig's grip slackened on the porcelain seat. He was unconscious before his body touched the cool, tiled floor.

Arthur was faster then he thought he'd be, catching the younger nation's head before it could meet painfully with the tiles He contemplated setting his head down on the floor, but something told him that was a bad idea. Just kneeling near the other blond's head was enough for the Brit to feel the ungodly heat radiating off the German. A calloused hand resting across Germany's brow more then confirmed there was a fever raging out of control, and England simply sighed. Judging by the drying state of some of the vomit that ended up on the floor from poor aim or bad timing, this had been going on for hours.

"Come on, mate, wake up," the Brit sighed, for now resting the sweat-soaked head on his lap as he tried to rouse Ludwig. All he got was a tiny groan and a far-too-hot forehead pressing against his hand, the German still very unconscious. England's frown deepened, his fingers instinctively brushing Germany's bangs back soothingly as his mind pulled together information.

'It is flu season over here, isn't it?' The Brit mentally sighed. 'And from what I heard, it's been pretty bad this year. His economy hasn't been too hot, either...Bloody twat, never seen him so sick. Well, I've actually never seen him sick.'

"Where's the bleeding thermometer?" England grunted, his previous rage fading quickly since being stuck over the john making pavement pizzas was a fair reason to miss a meeting. It took quite a bit of awkwardly shifting through the medicine cabinet while glancing back at the nation passed out on the tiled bathroom floor to find the small device.

Arthur visibly blanched from reading the temperature as his eyes flicked down at the German who was once more resting his head on a smartly dressed lap. Even for a country, whose body survived more then any human could, it was high. It was approaching extremely recent post-wartime levels, which was more then enough cause for worry. Cursing softly under his breath, England felt his mother hen side kick down the mental door it waited behind and started barking orders to the rest of his head. The island nation could almost feel his parental instincts seize control of his arms and legs, but after years and years of knowing himself, the Brit just when with it, letting his more worried side take over.

By the time his inner 'mother' was satisfied enough to stop making him hustle around the room like a madman, the puddles of vomit were scrubbed of the tiles, Germany was resting in a cool bath, his sweaty clothing and sheets removed and placed in the hamper, and fresh sheets neatly replacing them with a clean pair of clothes waiting to replace the ones the German had been wearing. England finally let his body settle back to a more controlled type of caring as her perched himself of the edge of the tub. The other nation had yet to stir, a towel cushioning his head and keeping it from slipping underwater.

England had long removed his suit jacket and rolled his sleeves up, and he was already looking a bit stressed out. He didn't know how many pandemics, plagues, and mass illnesses he'd lived through during his time as England. He'd only been this bad off a handful of times. After another tentative search to make sure there weren't any buboes that his personal paranoia kept saying might be there, he let his fingers rest on the younger nation's sweaty brow.

"First time you've been this bad, eh? Forget you're not that far over 100 as far as being a full-blow nation goes. You've probably been around longer, Prussia never stopped bragging about you back in the 1700s after... A-After America gained independence," the Brit sighed. He resisted the urge to touch the wounds from that war that had left small, faint scars, or the embarrassing one Alfred had given him the second his army was announced to have surrendered. He shook the thoughts away, talking to an unconscious man was oddly more appealing then being lost in thought. "Anyway, I don't think I've seen you sick like this, before. Even after those wars... Kept chugging right along with maybe a head cold."

He just kept talking for God knows how long, his voice taking a soothing tone as his fingers moved to easily running through the light blond tresses that were slicked back on Germany's head from sweating instead of gel. The Brit could feel the German shuddering from the cool bathwater, but his fever was too high for his liking, and in needed to go down at least a degree. He wasn't sure how, but at one point, he'd drained the tub, towel dried the unconscious country, dressed him in the pajamas he'd found, and tucked him into bed all without stopping the steady flow of one of his old folksongs.

"-and there I was, the Kraken wrapped 'round the haul and knocking men into the water left and right! I had to launch my plan quickly, or I'd loose my ship and the rest of my crew. So we-" The Birt had somehow managed to get to telling stories of his pirating days by the time a small groan left Germany's cracked lips. He felt the man's head shift a little under his hand earlier, turning to his voice, but he didn't seem to care. Or just though it was the younger nation's sleeping body trying to get more access to his thin fingers that were comfortingly cool. He let the story drop when actual words were spoken.

"A-Arthur...?"


	3. Chapter 3

Blue eyes that normally looked so sharp and glimmered like fresh ice, but know looked like two dull murky pools, bore into England's emerald gaze. Through the haziness, England saw confusion and recognition flash through Germany's features. The taller blond shifted under the covers, which were tucked up to his neck. His eyes flicked over the room lazily, a small cough rattling through his chest.

"Yes, Germany, it's me," Arthur sighed, shifting on the edge of the bed to face the German more fully. He noted the way Ludwig started shifting, and he could tell the other was going to sit up. "Rest. You look like death warmed over, right now, and I don't want you getting any ideas about going _anywhere_ until you've gotten some proper care." It only took one hand gently pressing down on Germany's chest to keep him down, and England winced because of that; the tall, muscle-bound, intelligent man that could strike fear and respect into a majority of the world, held down easily by a sarcastic, lean, and for the most part disrespected Brit. He could even see the younger nation struggling with what seemed to be all his might against his single, delicate hand.

"Why... W-why are you h-here, England?" Ludwig murmured, giving in with a small sigh. His temples throbbed every time he tried to raise his head, anyways. The thin, cool fingers went back to brushing through his hair, and he subconsciously relaxed and pressed his head softy against them. Arthur didn't mind, his smile soothing and calm, like a father's or an older brother's, though the few times Prussia had worn that look had meant his Kleine Bruder was so beat up and tired that he couldn't move a muscle on his own.

"You didn't show at the meeting, today. I came over to give you what for and found you blowing chunks," he hummed. "You passed out right after that, and you still look knackered after a three hour nap. How long have you been sick?" The German shifted softly onto his side and snuggled into the blankets, staying silent. "A while, then? You should have called up and canceled the meeting, Germany. I'm surprised you had enough energy to get to the bathroom without making more of a mess on your floor, let alone drag your sorry arse down to the meeting hall! Sit still, I'll be back shortly."

Ludwig's hazy eyes watched the shorter nation leave the room, the door being left partially open. He heard steps going down the hall, then downstairs. Finally, he got up the nerve to try moving, again. Germany's body ached harshly as he lifted his head, the throbbing pulling a low moan from his parched lips. He looked down at himself. His summer sheets were gone, he could see the corner of one sheet sticking out of the hamper. It was autumn, so it was only a matter of finding the time so he could change them, anyways... His light gray winter sheets were tucked neatly around his shivering form, and the dark blue comforter was pulled up to his chin.

Sitting neatly on the floor near his head was his wastebasket, a fresh lining replacing the almost overflowing pile of tissues he remembered being there, and it could easily double for a receptacle for any more vomit his body found to force up his throat. Everything looked freshly cleaned, actually, especially the floor, and from where he lay, the bathroom didn't have the puddles of bile he remembered being there, waiting for him to clean them up. Germany sighed, wincing as his rough throat ached angrily at the action. His nostrils twitched, and the taller blond tried to hold it back,but he failed.

"H-ha.. Ahhha- Hat'chu! Ha-hat'chu!" Ludwig sneezed, his temples ringing and his chest and airways screaming in pain. He sniffled meekly, a cough making his chest feel like someone had reached in and was squeezing his lungs tightly with each breath. Germany slowly wormed his arm out of the warmth, plucking a tissue from the recently opened box on his nightstand. He blew his nose, the sound wet and pitiful as he cleaned up his face from the snot that had dripped out. The German's whole head felt stuffed up and congested, like it was going to pop open any minute from the ear-splitting headache. Squeezing his eyes closed, he let his head flop back onto the pillow, murmuring softly about paperwork he needed to finish.

"Paperwork can wait," a crisp British voice practically snapped, but there was a gentleness in the tone. Something wet and cold was pressed against Germany's forehead, and he whined. The wet cloth stayed pressed firmly against his feverish skin, despite his weak attempts to remove it. "I know, I know... Trust me, Germany, this will make you feel much better if you let it stay where it is." Blue eyes pealed open and looked at him, the physical misery apparent as he finally settled and let the cold compress lie across his brow.

"I-I... I have p-paperw-work... N-need to-"

"Oh no you don't! I called your boss, and you are _officially_ on sick leave until you've recovered! Your work can wait until you can walk around your whole house without feeling dizzy and you're fever's broken," England childed, his face, though still concerned, taking on a stern expression. "Here, I brought up some cool water and the cough syrup from your medicine cabinet. Let's sit you up so you can take it..."

The taller blond was a little surprised and how easy it was for England to shift his leaden body so he was tilted up in a semi-sitting position, his pillows holding his head up. Germany coughed roughly as the blankets were re-tucked to suit his new pose, and the Brit let his fingers run through the sweaty blond locks gently until the fit eased off. The tiny plastic cup was pressed to his lips; the medicine's sent just broke through his congestion to tell Ludwig it would taste vile. A small whimper slid out, the German too tried and loopy to care that his dignity and masculinity had just been soiled by the small, pitiful noise.

"This is all you had, chap. It's the cherry kind, yes... I can get another flavor later if this keeps up, alright? I have water right here once you've swallowed it all," Arthur soothed, a soft smile on his lips as he pet the German's hair. Hesitantly, Ludwig parted his lips and the syrup was tipped into his mouth, his eyes squeezed closed. It was revolting, and he whined faintly as forced it to slide down his throat. He didn't open his eyes back up as the water took it's place and was given to him in sips. The horrible flavor left after a minute of swirling around the cool liquid before gulping it down, and his throat felt at least a little better with the way the thick medicine coated the scratchy muscle.

"That's it, Germany..." England crooned, setting the glass aside once the German motioned that he'd drunk enough. "I can make you some tea if you feel up to it. Sound good?" A faint nod was the only response, Ludwig too tired and his voice too scratchy to do much more. He relaxed into the soothing strokes of the Brit's thin fingers combing through his hair, sighing softly. He fought sleep's advances for a little while, his eyelids heavier and heavier by the minute.

"Sleep," Arthur whispered, his voice oddly tender compared to his usual jaded tone. "You need your rest... Don't worry, Germany, the world won't explode or anything if you do. I'll have some nice tea ready and if you feel up to it, something for you to eat when you wake back up. Just go to sleep..." The German didn't have much choice, his weakened body dragging him down into the soothing darkness of unconsciousness.

_'Wait... He'll have something ready? England's going to cook?!'_ Ludwig's mind pieced together as his eyes slid closed. _'Oh, Gott...'_


	4. Chapter 4

England watched the German sleep for a few minutes, still letting his fingers comb through his soft, sweaty hair. Once he was sure Ludwig was calmly sleeping, he stood and quietly left the room. With the door neatly closed behind him, Arthur let his mind go straight to the task of tea and food.

"Let's see... a nice, herbal tea with some mint should do his stomach good. Not sure if he has any, though..." the Brit mused, strolling into the orderly kitchen. He shifted through the organized basket of teabags and checked over boxes, but none of them were up to his standards. "Tch... Germany, leave it to you to have everything but some tea with mint in it... If I had my equipment, I could-" England cut himself of as his brilliance soaked in. He flipped open his cell phone as he moved on to checking over ingredients available to him for either concoction.

"Moshi, moshi," a familiar voice answered at the third ring, as usual. The Brit couldn't help but grin to himself. Good old Kiku, reliable as ever.

"Ah, Japan! Are you busy? I need someone to run a few quick errands for me, if that's possible," Arthur hummed, hefting a potato in his hand and checking it over.

"Of course, England-san. I am able to assist you. What is it you are needing?"

"Well, I'll need my supplies for tea-making from my hotel room, some fresh mint, yarrow, elderberry flowers, chicken breast, parsley, and... some celery. And if you could, some cough syrup that's not cherry flavored. Once you've got all that, come drop it off at Germany's house. The twat's sick, so the sooner, the better," the Brit fired off, ticking things off with his fingers as he gathered up the ingredients he did find in the impeccably organized kitchen and refrigerator. He heard a pen scribbling from the other side of the phone.

"Germnay-san is ill?" the Japanese man questioned, a speck of concern lacing through his monotone for a moment. "Should I notify the others?"

"No, no, don't spread it around. I had to hold him down to keep the muscle-head from getting up and doing his paperwork. He'll be fine soon enough, and we don't want everyone getting worked up and making a fuss over this." A wry smile tugged on his lips after a second as he added, "The poor sod wouldn't be able to get a moment of peace and quiet if anyone else showed up from the meeting... Especially any Italians."

The Japanese man gave a small sound of understanding. They both knew how loud and annoying Romano could be, most notably when either German brother was in the room. He'd abuse his set of lungs for hours if it meant being a jerk to a certain 'Potato Bastard'. Neither of them would put it past Italy to try and hobble all the way up to Berlin to see his sick friend, either, which though touching, would end badly for them both. Germany wouldn't get a second of quiet and would most likely be babied and force-fed pasta until he was strong enough to force the brunette out of the room and stop the concerned babble. With Feliciano's already damaged condition, he was in no position to take care of anyone, anyways.

"I will be over as soon as possible," Kiku hummed, seeming satisfied for now with what he knew about the situation. "I believe a 'See you soon' would be appropriate?"

"Yes, Japan, I'll see you soon," the Brit chuckled lightly, always a little amused at how polite the shorter man could be. Even with friends, he was so blatantly polite and yet, it got to be quite endearing after a while. Closing his phone neatly, Arthur busied himself with preparing other things. He cleaned and diced a few potatoes, measured out chicken broth, and prepared the pot for the other ingredients. Putting some water on to boil, the island nation calmly slipped back into Germany's room. The scene had stayed the same except during some shifting, the cold compress had fallen off Ludwig's brow.

Arthur re-wet the rag from a basin of cool water he'd drawn and left on the nightstand. After shifting the blankets a little, he let the moist cloth run over pale skin that was sticky with sweat. The small shudder was barely detectable, and England would have missed it if he wasn't touching the other. The German was still asleep, but his body seemed to relax more as it was given a chance to cool down. Softly smiling, England tucked the other back in, making sure there was enough space for a little air to circulate under the covers before dousing the small towel back in the basin.

The doorbell chimed as he wrung the fabric out. "Ah! Japan must be here," he hummed gently. "Just keep sleeping, I'll handle this." He pressed the cool cloth back on Germany's forehead, waiting for the soft whimpering and shifting to stop before letting go. "I'll have some tea ready before you know it! You'll feel much better after that." Stretching his back, the Brit calmly sauntered back down to the door.

"England-san, I came as quickly as I could," the calm voice of the Japanese man hummed as he walked inside. In one hand was an ornate looking case, Arthur's tea set, and the other held a bag or groceries. "I brought the items you required, and I bought some fruits, as well. How is Germany-san?" The messy-haired blond could tell Japan was worried; no one had ever honestly seen Ludwig get sick, before. Prussia may have, but that likely before the taller blond became his own entity.

"He's resting, right now. You can go up and see him if you like," the Brit hummed, motioning for the dark-haired man to set the items on the table. "I, on the other hand, will begin on that tea... He should feel worlds better with some of this in his systems. It'll hopefully help ease his stomach enough to keep some soup down."

"Ah, no, I do not wish to intrude on Germany-san while he is not feeling well. I had better be going," Kiku bowed, polite as ever as he set the bags neatly on the kitchen table. "Turkey-san and Grease-san have both been very persistent about a visit, and I feel that now would be a good time to meet with them both. My flight will leave soon, and I do not wish to miss it. Please give Germany my regards when he wakes." And just like that, England was alone, again, unpacking his materials and slaving over two separate containers.

The pot was filled with chicken broth and potatoes, celery, parsley, and chicken breast joining the mixture as he let it cook. It was a small twist on chicken noodle soup, potatoes replacing the noodles, and he usually liked to serve it as more of a chowder. With the other sick, though, he felt leaving it as a soup would help it stay down easier. Once he was content with how the concoction in the pot was going along, he shifted his attention back to the mortar and pestle, grinding and squishing the herbs to relies their flavors and scents into the air. He added other ingredients to give it color and to help the fresh herb's flavors be enriched and complimented. Carefully spooning the mixture into a home-make tea bag, the Brit sealed it shut and checked over the soup.

Arthur stirred the broth carefully, checking to see that everything was cooked through and at a consistency he knew would be easy to chew and swallow. Pleased with his work, England set the burner on low to keep the pot warm before plucking a mug from the cabinet. The water had long since boiled, and he was letting it cool a little as he let the home-made blend steep. He wanted the tea to be hot, but it wouldn't do any good if Ludwig burned his tongue, or anything else if the tea was spilled. Cradling the mug carefully, the island nation returned to Germany's room, where the occupant was still sleeping.

"Wake up, mate," England hummed, slowly shaking the taller blond's shoulder after setting the steaming mug down on the nightstand. "I've got some nice tea ready for you. It'll help with your fever and settle your stomach." A tiny moan flitted out of the covers, blond eyelashes fluttering against flushed cheeks. "Kraut, wake up." It had been a while since the Brit had used that nickname, but it did the trick. Pale blue eyes peeled open, hazily looking at him. He watched them focus a little, Ludwig murmuring under his breath until recognition and a tiny smile took up his face.

"E-Engl-land..." the German sighed, shifting up a little on the cushions still propping up his shoulders and head. The Brit felt his heart melt a little at the rare sight. Even with his face flushed and his eyes tired and blurry, that grin was oddly sweet, and he almost wished he had a camera to capture the moment so he wouldn't think he'd just imagined it. Shoving the fuzzy, decidedly _not amorous_, feelings aside, he helped the other sit up more fully.

"I made some tea. It should help a lot, alright?" the shorter blond hummed, carefully holding the mug to Ludwig's lips. Sure, Germany was a strong, independent nation of his own and should be able to hold a cup and drink all by himself, but he was sick, and with how he wasn't able to comfortably lift his own head without help, the Brit felt it would be better to play it safe. "Be careful, it's still hot." Blinking slowly, the German nodded, his lips softly wrapping around the rim of the mug and taking a tiny sip. The room prickled with anxiety for a moment as Ludwig paused, taking in the flavor on his tongue.

"Mmmmm~!" the taller blond moaned softy, worming a hand out of the blankets to nudge the mug so he could take a larger swig of the liquid. Arthur sighed, letting out a breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding, before smiling gently. Germany drained the tea, though the Brit kept the pace slow enough that his stomach didn't reject it. He set the mug aside, noting the small disappointed look that settled on the flushed face.

"I take it you liked the tea, then," England smirked. "This is a home-made bend I whipped up myself. It should help your stomach to settle down enough to try and keep down something light." Thin fingers moved up to run through the sweat-soaked blond hair, and the German murmured contently. Arthur just smiled lightly, waiting to give the herbs time to work and to make sure the tea stayed down in the first place. It was evening, and if his judgment was right, then the larger nation hadn't really eaten anything all day.

"Feel like you can eat a little?" the Brit hummed softly. A low growl from Germany's stomach beat them both to it, and a small, sheepish grin took up his face. "Soup sound good? Japan brought some fruits over, too, if that sounds better." The German just shrugged a little, too comfortable to really remember the few seconds of panic before he'd settled down to sleep earlier. "Then soup's on! One moment, I'll bring some up." The island nation was through the door and down the hall before Ludwig had time to blink.

England's return was much calmer, the small bowl held neatly in his hands and a nervous expression on his face. Germany quirked his brow softly, sniffling for a moment before snatching another tissue to block his sneeze and the snot that would undoubtedly drip out with it. The Brit gave a sympathetic smile and set the soup down on the nightstand for a moment.

"It's chicken and potato soup. You don't need to eat too much, but seeing how you were this morning... At least try to eat some so you can regain your strength," Arthur crooned, passing Ludwig another tissue when the first wasn't enough to catch all of the snot. The German gave a tiny nod, binning the tissues before a sense of dread settled in the back of his mind.

_ 'Alright... His cooking can't be __**that**__ bad, ja?'_ his head whispered to itself. '_I-I mean, the scones __**looked**__ like they'd been burned on accident that time, and he __**did**__ say it wasn't his best batch... Th-the tea was good, so maybe... M-maybe...'_ The line of thought made his temples throb, and a small grimace spread across his face, his lips pressed closed to keep quiet. Germany's internal fearing of Arthur's cooking was brought to a halt by a soft hand rubbing his scalp. A whimper slipped out as his headache reared it's head, but the Brit's fingers soothed it away.

"Come on, mate," England sighed, smoothing back his hair lightly. "Just try it. Your taste buds aren't working too well, anyways." Ludwig could see the faint hurt in Arthur's eyes, oddly enough, and it made his chest ache with guilt. He knew the Brit had better things he could be doing with his time, but here he was, taking care of him. Hazy blue eyes flickered from the emerald pools down to the bowl, and despite the way part of him said he'd regret this, he parted his lips wide enough for a spoon.

It took a moment for the Brit to take the hint. A faint gleam sparked in his eyes as he nodded gently. Carefully, he set the soup on his lap and scooped up a spoonful, steam still wafting off the mushy potato chunk that accompanied the broth. Stealing his nerves, Germany opened his mouth a little wider as the spoon moved to enter his mouth. He tasted the metallic tang of the utensil as he sealed his lips around it, slowly feeling it pull out before the flavors spread across his tongue. He froze.


End file.
